His mouth twitched.“Not usually.But I do like to banter with you.”
Heat filled my cheeks, and I glanced away from him, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.“Go put your legs up, Tom.Sam and I can help out here.”
“It’s true, we can,” Sam piped up from inside the stall.
“I’ll eat if you both stay for dinner,” he finally said.“Let me cook for you as a way to say thank you for all of your help.”
“Can we eat out here in the barn?”Sam asked.
Like two parents totally in sync, Tom and I said, “No,” at the exact same time.
It was odd enough even to my kid that she popped her head over the stall.“That was weird.”
Yeah, it was.
I glanced at Tom, his brown eyes sparkling with hope.
Sam was bouncing up and down on her toes in Midnight’s stall, waiting for me to answer.
I sighed.“Fine.But you need to let me help.”
Tom grinned.“We will see.”
“Please let me help,” I pleaded with Tom as he stood in his kitchen with the copper pots hanging over the island, and the scent of garlic and herbs making my mouth water.
“Do you know how to make gnocchi?”he asked.
I glanced down at my feet.“No.”
“So then you are as useful to me as a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest.”He grinned wide and oh so sexy before making his way over to a lower cupboard near the French doors that led to the sundeck.“Do you drink wine?”
I scoffed.“I run a winery.”
“And I run a farm, but I don’t eat the animals.”
Rolling my eyes, I shook my head and smiled.“Yes, I drink wine.”
“I am a wine snob.”He brought over a bottle of red.“Only Italian wine touches my lips.”
Sam gasped from where she sat on the floor in the living room playing with Portia, who seemed keen to have someone to show her tricks to in exchange for treats.“Mom, did you hear that?”
“I did,” I said, giving another head shake.“That is some serious snobbery right there.”
“Maybe he just needs to try our wine,” Sam added.“We’ll bring you some tomorrow.”She scratched behind Portia’s ears when the pig correctly identified which cup had the little toy under it.
Tom popped the cork on the bottle and poured a small splash into a stemless glass, then handed it to me.“Tell me that is not the most delicious thing you’ve ever had on your tongue.”
Ooh, if I were Naomi or Raina, I would have made a cheeky, sexual comment.But I wasn’t, and my child was in the living room.So I let the innuendo fodder slide and didn’t bite.Instead, I just put the glass under my nose, took a long, deep inhale and allowed the rich, almost chocolatey aroma to fill my lungs.Then I held it up to the light to check the color, and finally, I swirled the wine around in the glass enough to give it “legs” which was the term for the rivulets that ran back down into the bottom.
Tom watched me the entire time with slightly veiled appreciation on his face.Only then, after I determined it smelled great, had nice legs and good color, did I take a small sip.Swishing it gently around on my tongue, I didn’t swallow right away.I let it hit every corner, every tastebud.Then I let it slide down my throat, and slowly pulled cool air in through my lips to truly experience all the flavors.
“And?”Tom asked.“Does it pass your thorough inspection?”
I kept him on read for a moment before finally shrugging and feigning nonchalance.“It’s fine, I guess.”It was delicious.Absolutely spectacular.But I couldn’t tell him that.
His eyebrows nearly flew off his forehead.“Fine?Fine?”
Sam giggled from the living room.
